“Is that really all this is to you? Just a job?”
I couldn’t answer that. Not honestly. Not without admitting that somewhere between the wedding expo and the island, between blue cocktails and handholding in the dark, Callan Burkhardt had become much more than just a client to me.
“I have work to do,” I said instead, turning back to my computer.
Mari sighed but took the hint, rising from her chair. “For what it’s worth,” she said, pausing at the door, “I think you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be. Just tell him how you feel.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is, but sometimes it’s worth it anyway.”
After she left, I sat staring at my blank computer screen, her words echoing in my head. Just tell him how you feel. As if I could just walk up to Callan Burkhardt, billionaire client who had hired me specifically to find him a wife, and say, “Hey, I think I might be falling for you, despite all my professional boundaries and the fact that you’re planning to marry someone else as part of an elaborate bet with your frat boy friends.”
Yeah. That would go over great. About as well as suggesting a clown officiate a formal wedding.
My phone buzzed, and I snatched it up embarrassingly fast, my heart doing a little flip when I saw Callan’s name on the screen.
Change of plans. Can you come to my penthouse tonight instead of tomorrow? 7pm. Something’s come up.
My fingers hovered over the keys as I debated my response. The professional thing would be to reschedule for normal business hours. To maintain boundaries. To not go to his penthouse at night like some booty call disguised as a business meeting.
I’ll be there.
Professional Anica was apparently on vacation. Possibly still on an island. Drinking something blue and making poor life choices.
Callan’s penthouse was exactly as I remembered it from our first meeting. The man himself answered the door looking decidedly less polished than usual, in jeans and a simple t-shirt, his hair slightly rumpled as if he’d been running his hands through it.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, stepping back to let me in. “Sorry for the last-minute change.”
“Not a problem,” I replied, clutching my portfolio of bride candidates in front of me. “I brought the files on the three women we discussed. All of them are available this week for meetings if any catch your interest. I know Angie is the top contender, but like you said, I still have options for you if you’d like.”
“About that,” Callan said, leading me toward the living area. “There’s been a change with her.”
“What kind of change?” I asked, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.
“I broke things off.”
“What? With Angie?” I blinked, caught off guard. “But she was perfect. Intelligent, accomplished, beautiful?—”
“She asked me to sign a prenup,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “Her prenup. An eighty-seven page document her family’s lawyers prepared. Before we’d even had a third date.”
“Oh,” I said, genuinely surprised. “That’s... forward.”
“It had a clause about scheduled sex,” he continued, pacing now. “Twice a week, with provisions for ‘reasonable performance expectations’ and a section titled ‘Allowable Excuses for Non-Compliance.’”
I nearly choked. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. There was also a detailed breakdown of acceptable vacation destinations categorized by season and a mandatory attendance policy for her family’s holiday gatherings, with financial penalties for missing her second cousin’s annual Labor Day barbecue.”
“That’s...”
“Insane? Terrifying? The relationship equivalent of being fitted for a straitjacket while still on the first date?”
“I was going to say ‘thorough,’” I offered. “But yes, those too.”
“I mean, I appreciate preparation, but this was like she was drafting a corporate merger where my body and time were the assets being acquired.” He shuddered visibly. “When I pointed out that it seemed premature, she said, and I quote, ‘I like to maximize efficiency in all my endeavors, and this union presents optimal synergies for both our brands.’”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “She actually said ‘synergies’? In a romantic context?”
